r 




Worth While 
Poems 






:>elecied by 

Homer A. Rodeheaver 



Mortb Mbile 



WAIF GEMS OF VERSE GATHERED FROM HERE 

AND THERE AND RECITED IN 

PUBLIC READINGS BY 

HOMER A. RODEHEAVER 




"UHE nODEHEAVER COMPANY 

CHICAGO AND PHILADELPHIA 
1916 






Copyright 1916 
By HOMER A. RODEHEAVER 



/ 



JUL 24 1916 



Press ot 

THE RODEHEAVER COMPANY 

CHICAGO 



CI.A431977 



K 



During the years I have been in evangelistic 
work, it has been my custom, in connection with 
the song and other services to recite poems 
which I thought would be helpful. Some have 
told me that these little verses led them to Christ; 
others that the dark corners had been bright- 
ened, the clouds of doubt dispelled and new 
hope bom through their agency. 

Good friends all over the country have very 
kindly sent to me clippings of this nature with- 
out giving the names of the authors; therefore, 
if I have failed in any instance to give credit 
where it was due, or inadvertently infringed up- 
on the rights of others, I have not done so inten- 
tionally. 

For the many friends who have been helped 
by these literary waifs and have asked for them, 
I have printed this little book. All who enjoy 
them ovsre thanks and appreciation to my good' 
friends, Strickland Gillilan; The Forbes Com- 
pany; Ella Wheeler Wilcox; The Conkey Com- 
pany, and others, for so graciously allowing 
me to re-print from some of their splendid copy- 
righted publications. 

Sincerely, 

Homer A. Rodeheaver. 



Contents 



A Letter to Mother ^ 1 

A Little Prayer 3 7 

A Pretty Good Plan to Forget It 24 

A Smile 2 6 

A Smiling Paradox 63 

As To You 2 8 

Being a Man 5 2 

Blemishes 48 

Do Something 53 

Everybody Is Lonesome 22 

Finest of All 42 

Friendship 4! 

Homely Rhymes 6 1 

If : 16 

If We Knew 5 I 

In Concluding 64 

It Can Be Done 56 

Just Keep On ,. 3 



Keep A-Goin' 5 

Me an' Pap an' Mother , 32 

Old Mothers 5 9 

Sawdust From the Trail 57 

Sing a Song 3 1 

Smile -..„. 36 

Smile :. 54 

That Little Chap o' Mine 45 

The Anvil of God's Word 49 

The Best Letter 1 8 

The Coat of Life 43 

The Contagious Smile 55 

The Finest Sight 38 

The Mother's Love 58 

The Old Hymns 1 1 4 

The Washerwoman's Song 46 

Today 40 

To My Mother 60 

To My Son 62 

Try Smiling 63 

**What Christ Said" 3 5 

What Might Have Been ._.... 20 

Where The Lord Is 60 

Worth While - 9 



WORTH WHILE 

[t is easy enough to be pleasant. 

When Hfe flows by Hke a song, 
But the man worth while is one who will smile, 

When everything goes dead wrong. 
For the test of the heart is trouble, 

And it always comes with the years; 
And the smile that is worth the praises of earth, 

Is the smile that shines through tears. 

It is easy enough to be prudent 

When nothing tempts you to stray. 
When without or within no voice of sin 

Is luring your soul away; 
But it*s only a negative virtue 

Until it is tried by fire. 
And the life that is worth the honor on earth, 

Is the one that resists desire. 

By the cynic, the sad, the fallen. 

Who had no strength for the strife. 
The world's highway is cumbered today, 

They make up the sum of life. 
But the virtue that conquers passion, 

And the sorrow that hides in a smile, 
It is these that are worth the homage on earth, 

For we find them but once in a while. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
— 9 — 



A LETTER TO MOTHER— AFTER 
HEARING "BILL*' 

Dear Mother — I went up last night 

An* heard Bill preach — an*, say 
You oughta hear that feller talk, 

An' teach an' shout an* pray. 
An' go a chasin' up and down 

That big high platform there. 
As tho' he'd tear the blame thing up 

And wave it in the air. 
If it would make the truth strike home. 

An' mother, dear, I swan. 
In all my forty years, I've never 

Seen such goin's on. 
Why! first he'd be lafHn 

Jist almost fit to kill, 
An' then he'd be a weep in*, while 

Ten thousand folks kep' still 
An' helt their breath, and wiped their eyes. 

An' leant way over, — so 
They wouldn't miss not nary a word 

That thundered to and fro 
All thro' the Tabernacle, 

A reachin' every heart 

^ This poem was written by Mrs. Terradell especially for the If 
I '"Mothers* Day" in Columbus, Ohio. ; J 

— 10 — 



Jl Letter to Mother -Continued 

An' touchin' it an' meltin' it 

An' makin' sinners smart. 
Whenever he would **hit the ball," 

An' when the right time cum, 
Hundreds and hundreds, 'peared to me. 

Would make a straight home run 
A hittin' the ol* sawdust trail 

An' graspin' Bill's hand tight. 
An' ev'rybody's sorry when he quits 

And ses **Goodnight" 
As only Bill can say it. 

With that ever changin' voice; 
Some folks might not like it, 

But it makes my heart rejoice. 
Why, mother, when I get to heaven 

An' God lets go my hand, 
An' I've kist you, I know I'll hear. 

Above the angel band. 
That voice of Bill's I've learnt to love, 

A shoutin', **Glory Be," 
An' **Halleluyer," which from Bill 

Sounds awful good to me. 

An' Mother, some time purty soon 

(Best thing I've heard Bill say) 
He's gonna git the mothers out 

An* have a ''Mothers' Day,'* 



Jl Letter to Mother—Continued 

An* speak of them, and talk to them 

Like he alius does, so fine; 
Among that crowd of mothers there 

I wisht 1 could see mine, 
With her sweet ol* face an' her snow-white hair, 

An* the smile. 
An' the love, an' the cheer — 

With her hand in mine, so trustin' like. 
Oh, I wisht that you wus here! 

I'd take you 'way up front, so you 

Could hear Bill talk, and see 
All the w^hite ribbons an' the white flowers 

That folks'U wear, an' be 
Jist the dearest, sweetest mother. 

An' the purtiest, too, I know. 
Of all the many mothers 

In this here town to go. 
But, Mother, sence you can't be here 

Cause you're so fur away, 
I went an' I got a little flower 

To send to you today. 
An' oh, I looked all over town 

To find one that would do; 
I wanted one so perfect like, 

Remindin' me of you. 

^12 — 



ji Letter to Mother -Continued 

So here it is, my mother, 

A rose, all pure an' white — 
In full bloom, like your soul is, 

An' a shinin' with all the might 
God gave it; an* a givin* out 

To others the very best 
That's in it; just for all 

The world like you do — 
I can't write the rest 
That's in my heart and soul an' mind, 

Because — I don't know why — 
But I feel all sorter choked up. 

Like when you can't help but cry. 
But before I end this letter 

And the train takes it away 
To the dearest mother in the world, 

I just want to say, 
A hearin' Bill, has even made me 

Love you more, by gum! 
With lots of love an' kisses, 

I am, your unworthy son. 

Mrs. D. A. Terradell 



— 13 



THE OLD HYMNS 

There's lots of music in *ein — 

The hymns of long ago, 
And when some gray-haired brother 

Sings the ones I used to know 
I sorter want to take a hand ; 

I think of days gone by — 
**On Jordan's stormy banks I stand 

And cast a wistful eye!" 

There's lots of music in 'em — 

Those dear, sweet hymns of old. 
With visions bright of lands of light. 

And shining streets of gold ; 
And I hear 'em ringing — singing. 

Where mem'ry, dreaming, stands— 
**From Greenland's icy mountains 

To India's coral strands." 

They seem to sing forever 

Of holier, sweeter days. 
When the lilies of the love of God 

Bloomed white in all the ways; 
And I want to hear their music 

From the old-time meetin' rise. 
Till '*! can read my title clear 

To mansions in the skies.** 

— 14 — 



^he Old Hymns-Continued 

We never needed singin' books 

In them old days — we knew 
The words, the tunes of every one — 

The dear old hymn book through. 
We didn't have no trumpets then. 

No organs built for show. 
We only sang to praise the Lord 

"From whom all blessings flow.** 

An' so I love the old hymns, 

And when my time shall come — 
Before my light has left me, 

And my singing lips are dumb — 
If i can hear *em sing them then 

ril pass without a sigh 
To **Canaan's fair and happy land 

Where my possessions lie." 

Jltlanta Constitution 



— 15 — 



IF 



If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt 
you, 

But make allowance for their doubting, too: 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting. 

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated, don't give way to hating. 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too 
wise: 

If you can dream— and not make dreams your 
master ; 
If you can think — and not make thoughts 
your aim; 
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

And treat those two imposters just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truths you've spoken 

Tw^isted by knaves to make a trap for fools. 

Or watch the things you gave your life to 

broken. 

And stoop and build *em up with worn-out 

tools; 

— 16 — 



If-'Continued 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch and toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

And never breathe a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone. 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will, which says to them: **Hold 
on; 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your vir- 
tue, 
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common 
touch, 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; 
If all men count with you, but none too 
much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it. 
And- — ^which is more — you'll be a Man, my 
son. 

^udyard Kipling 



~I7^ 



THE BEST LETTER 

You may write a thousand letters 

To the maiden you adore, 
And declare in every letter 

That you love her more and more; 
You may praise her grace and beauty 

In a thousand glowing lines, 
And compare her eyes of azure 

With the brightest star that shines. 
If you had the pen of Byron 

You w^ould use it every day 
In composing w^ritten w^orship 

To your sweetheart far aw^ay; 
But the letter far more welcome 

To an older, gentler breast. 
Is the letter to your mother 

From the boy she loves the best. 

Youthful blood is fierce and flaming. 

And w^hen w^riting to your love 
You will rave about your passion, 

Sw^earing by the stars above; 
Vowing by the moon*s white splendor 

That the girlie you adore 
Is the one you'll ever cherish 

As no maid was loved before. 

^ Read by Mr. Rodeheaver In one of the Sunday Meetings. IS} 
L Written by Mr. Kirk for this special occasion. J 

— 18 — 



^he Best Letter—Continued 

You will pen full many a promise 

On the paper white and dumb 
That you never can live up to 

In the married years to come. 
But a much more precious letter, 

Bringing more and deeper bliss 
Is the letter to your mother 

From the boy she cannot kiss. 

She will read it very often 

When the lights are soft and low, 
Sitting in the same old corner 

Where she held you years ago. 
And, regardless of its diction. 

Its construction, or its style. 
And although its spelling would 

Provoke a critic's smile, 
In her old and trembling fingers 

It becomes a work of art. 
Stained by tears of joy and cadness 

As she hugs it to her heart; 
Yes, the letter of all letters. 

Look wherever you may roam. 
Is the letter to your mother 

From the boy away from home. 

IV. F. Kirk 
— 19 — 



WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 

It isn't the thing you do, dear, 

It*s the thing you leave undone — 
That gives you a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 
The tender word forgotten; 

The letter you did not write; 
The flower you did not send, dear, 

Are your haunting ghosts at night. 

The stone you might have lifted 

Out of a brother's way; 
The bit of heartsome counsel 

You w^ere hurried too much to say; 
The loving touch of the hand, dear. 

And the gentle, winning tone 
That you had no time or thought for. 

With troubles enough of your own. 

Those little acts of kindness, 

So easily out of mind. 
Those chances to be angels 

Which we poor mortals find, 
They come in night and silence. 

Each sad, reproachful wrath, 
When hope is faint and flagging 

And a chill has fallen on faith. 

— 20 — 



JVhat Might Have Been—Continued 

For life is all too short, dear. 

And sorrow is all too great 
To suffer our slow compassion 

That tarries until too late; 
And it isn't the thing you do, dear. 

It's the thing you leave undone 
That gives you a bit of a heartache, 

At the setting of the sun. 



^2!—* 



EVERYBODY IS LONESOME 

Way down deep within their hearts 

Everybody's lonesome; 
Far within their secret parts 

Everybody's lonesome. 
Makes no difference how they smile, 
How they live or what their style; 
Once in every little while 

Everybody's lonesome. 

People first in big affairs — 

Even they are lonesome. 
Maybe like to put on airs; 

Just the same, they're lonesome. 
Men for whom existence blends 
Every good ; who gain all ends, 
Still reach out their hands for friends; 

Everybody's lonesome. 

Women, silk-clad, jeweled fine. 
Yes, they, too, are lonesome; 
When their gems the brightest shine. 

They are just as lonesome. 
Some must serve and some command. 
All still seek, with groping hand. 
Love, and friends who understand. 
Everybody's lonesome. 

— 22 — 



Everybody is Lonesome—Continued 

Though your gift of friendship's small 

Everybody's lonesome. 
It may answer someone's call; 

Someone who is lonesome. 
Give, and give with might and main ; 
Give your hands, and join the chain, 
And your gift will be your gain 

Some time, when you're lonesome, x 

Detroit News 



— 23 — 



A PRETTY GOOD PLAN TO FORGET IT 

If you see a tall fellow ahead of the crowd, 

A leader of men, marching fearless and proud. 

And you know of a tale whose mere telling 

aloud 
Would cause his proud head to in anguish be 

bowed. 
It's a pretty good plan to forget it. 

If you know of a skeleton hidden away 
In a closet, and guarded and kept from the day 
In the dark, whose showing, whose sudden dis- 
play 
Would cause grief and sorrow and life-long dis- 
may, 
It's a pretty good plan to forget it. 

If you know of a spot in the life of a friend, 

(We all have such spots concealed, world with- 
out end), 

Whose touching his heartstrings would play on 
and rend 

Till the shame of its showing no grieving could 
mend. 
It's a pretty good plan to forget it. 

— 24 — 



Jl Pretty Good Plan to Forget It-Continued 

If you know anything that will darken the joy 

Of a man or a woman, a girl or a boy, 

That will wipe out a smile or the least way 

annoy 
A fellow, or cause any gladness to cloy, 
It's a pretty good plan to forget it. 

If you know of a thing, just the least little sin, 
Whose telling would cork up a laugh or a grin 
Of a man you don't like, for Lord's sake keep 

it in! 
Don't, don't be a knocker, right here stick a 

pin — 
It's a pretty good plan to forget it. 



*-25-* 



A SMILE 

The thing that goes the farthest 

Toward making life worth while, 
That costs the least and does the most, 

Is just a pleasant smile; 
The smile that bubbles from a heart 

That loves its fellowmen, 
Will drive away the cloud of gloom 

And coax the sun again. 
It's full of worth and goodness, too, 

With manly kindness blent — 
It's worth a million dollars 

And it doesn't cost a cent. 

There is no room for sadness 

When we see a cheery smile; 
It always has the same good look — 

It's never out of style — 
It nerves us on to try again 

When failure makes us blue; 
The dimples of encouragement 

Are good for me and you. 
It pays a higher interest. 

For it is merely lent — 
It's worth a million dollars, 

And it doesn't cost a cent. 

— 26 — 



Jl Smile—Coniinued 



A smile comes very easy — 

You can wrinkle up with cheer 
A hundred times before you 

Can squeeze out a soggy tear. 
It ripples out moreover 

To the heartstrings that will tug. 
And always leaves an echo 

That is very like a hug. 
So smile away. Folks understand 

What by a smile is meant, 
It's worth a million dollars. 

And it doesn't cost a cent. 



— 27^ 



AS TO YOU 

Did you give him a lift? He's a brother of 
man, and bearing about all the burden he can. 

Did you give him a smile? He was down- 
cast and blue, and a smile would have helped 
him to battle it through. 

Did you give him your hand? He was slip- 
ping down hill, and the world, so I fancied, was 
using him ill. 

Did you give him a word, did you show him 
the road, or did you just let him go on with 
his load? 

Did you help him along? He's a sinner like 
you, but the grasp of your hand might have 
carried him through. 

Did you bid him good cheer? Just a word 
and a smile w^ere w^hat he most needed that 
last w^eary mile. Do you know^ w^hat he bore, 
in that burden of cares that is every man's load 
and that sympathy shares? 

* Did you try to find out what he needed from 
you, or did you just leave him to battle it 
through? Do you know what it means to be 
losing the fight, when a lift just in time might 
set everything right? 



28 



As to You— Continued 

Do you know what it means — just the clasp 
of a hand, w^hen a man's borne about all a man 
ought to stand? 

Did you ask what it was — why the quivering 
lip, and the glistening tears down the pale 
cheeks that slip? Were you a brother of his 
when time came to be? Did you offer to 
help him, or didn't you see? 

Did you stop when he asked you to give him 
a lift, or were you so busy you left him to 
shift? Oh, I know what you say may be true, 
but the test of your manhood is w^hat did you 
do? Did you reach out your hand? Did you 
find him the road, or did you just let him go 
by with his load? — F. B. Cawell, From Advo- 
cate and Guardian. 



29 



JUST KEEP ON 

Just keep on a-livin' 

An' keep on a-givin', 
An' keep on a-tryin' to smile; 

Just keep on a-singin' 

A-trustin' an' a-cHngin' 
To the promise of an afterwhile. 

For the sun comes up 

An' the sun goes down, 
An' the morning follows night. 

There's a place to rest 

Like a mother's breast, 
An' a time when things come right. 

Just keep on believin' 

An' a-hidin' all your grievin'. 
An' keep on a-tryin' to cheer. 

Just keep on a-prayin' 

A-lovin' an' a-sayin' 
The things that we love to hear. 

For the tide comes in 

An' the tide goes out. 
An' the dark will all turn bright; 

There's a rest from the load 

An' an end to the road. 
An' a place where things come right. 

Clifton Abbott 
— 30 — 



SING A SONG 

If you'll sing a song as you go along, 

In the face of a real or a fancied wrong; 

If, in spite of the doubt, you will fight it out 

And show a heart that is brave and stout; 

If you'll laugh at the jeers and refuse the tears, 

You'll force the ever reluctant cheers 

That the w^orld denies when a coward cries 

And gives to the man who bravely tries, — 

And you'll win success with a little song. 

If you'll sing the song as you go along. 

If you'll sing a song as you go along, 
You'll find that the singing will make you 

strong. 
And the heavy load and the rugged road. 
And the sting and the strife of the torturous 

goad 
Will soar with the note that you set afloat, 
That the beam will change to a trifling moat, — 
That the world is sad when you are sad. 
And bright and beautiful when you are glad; 
And that all you need is a little song. 
If you'll sing the song as you trudge along. 

— 31 — 



ME AN* PAP AN' MOTHER 

When I was a little tike 

I set at th' table 
'Tween my mother an' my pap; 

Eat all I was able. 
Pap he fed me on one side, 

Mammy on th' other. 
Tell ye we was chums, them days — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Sundays, we'd take great, long walks 

Through th' woods an' pasters; 
Pap he al'ays packed a cane, 

Mother'n me picked asters. 
Sometimes they's a sister 'long, 

Sometimes they's a brother; 
But they al'ays was us three — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Pap he didn't gabble much; 

Hel' his head down, thinkin*. 
Didn't seem t' hear us talk. 

Nor th' cow-bells clinkin*. 
Love-streaks all 'peared worried out 

'Bout one thing er nuther; 
Didn't al'ays understand pap — 

That's me an* mother. 

— 32 — 



Me an Pap an Mother "Continued 

I got big an* went away; 

Left th' farm behind me. 
Thinkin' o* that partin* yit 

Seems t' choke an* bHnd me. 
'Course rd be all safe an* good 

With m' married brother. 
But we had to part, us three — 

Me an' pap an* mother. 

Hurried back, one day; found pap 

Changed, an' pale an' holler; 
Seen right off he'd have to' go — 

Where we couldn't f oiler. 
Lovin' streaks all show^ed up then — 

Ah, we loved each other! 
Talked fast, jest t' keep back tears — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Pap he's — dead; but mother ain't; 

Soon will be, I reckon ; 
Claims already she can see 

Pap's forefinger beckon. 
Life hain't long, I'll go myself 

One these days eruther. 
Then we'll have good times agin, 

Me an' pap an' mother. 



33 



Me an Pap an Mother --Continued 

Purtier hills we'll have t* climb, 

Saunterin' 'long old fashion, 
Hear th' wild birds singin' 'round; 

See th' river splashin' — 
If God'd only let us three 

Be 'lone, like we'd ruther. 
Heaven' d be a great ol' place 

For me an' pap an' mother. 

Strickland W. Gillilan. 

®r This is indeed a classic among our modern literature. It \» 
I has helped a lot of folks and made them anxious to prepare 1^ 
L for that re-union to which w^e are all looking f orw^ard. J 



— 34 — 



•'WHAT CHRIST SAID" 

I said, **Let me walk in the fields." 
He said, **No! Walk in the town." 

I said, * 'There are no flowers there." 
He said, *'No flowers, but a crown." 

I said, "But the skies are black; 

There's nothing but noise and din." 
And He wept as He sent me back; 

"There is more," He said, "there is sin." 

I said, "I shall miss the light. 

And friends w^ill miss me, they say." 

He answered, "Choose tonight. 
If I am to miss you, or they." 

I pleaded for time to be given. 

He said, "Is it hard to decide? 
It will not seem hard in Heaven 

To have followed the steps of your Guide." 

Then into His hand went mine. 

And into my heart came He; 
And I walk in a light divine — 

The path that I feared to see. 

Qeorge S^cDonald. 
— 35 — 



SMILE 

Smile, and the world smiles with you, 
**Knock** and you go alone; 

For the cheerful grin 

Will let you in 
Where the kicker is never known. 

Growl, and the way looks dreary; 
Laugh, and the path is bright, 

For the welcome smile 

Brings sunshine, while 
A frown shuts out the light. 

V 

Sing, and the world's harmonious! 
Grumble, and things go w^rong. 

Yet all the time 

You are out of rhyme 
With the busy, bustling throng. 

Kick, and there's trouble brewing; 
Whistle, and life is gay. 

And the world's in tune 

Like a day in June, 
And sorrow will melt away. 



— 36 — 



A LITTLE PRAYER 

If any little word of mine 

May make a life the brighter; 
If any little song of mine 

May make a heart the lighter, 
God help me speak the little word. 

And take my bit of singing, 
And drop it in some lonely vale 

To set the echoes ringing. 

If any little love of mine 

May make a life the sweeter; 
If any little care of mine 

May make a friend's the fleeter; 
If any little lift may ease 

The burden of another, 
God give me love, and care and strength 

To help my toiling brother. 



This world we're livin' in 

Is mighty hard to beat; 

We get a thorn with every ros< 

But ain't the roses sweet! 

— 37 — 



THE FINEST SIGHT 

'Twas on a well-filled railway train one snowy 
winter day. 
When each was sitting waiting for his sta- 
tion ; 
The most of us were speeding on to spend 
sometime away 
From home, with friends or sweethearts or 
relation. 
A sweet, old w^hite-haired lady sat three seats 
in front of me — 
A gray-haired man beside her called her 
•*Mother"; 
And there I sat and w^ondered if a finer sight 
could be 
Than two old gray-haired folks that love 
each other. 

The love of youth for youth is strong and 

thrills folks through and through; 

The love of middle age is sweet and deeper; 

The love of our decrepitude is as the compass 

true, 

Each praying to be first to meet the Reaper. 

— 38 — 



^he Finest Sight—Continued 

I've seen the dawn sweep o'er the sea and 
gild the distant hill 
I've seen the best the world affords, my 
brother; 
But nothing else w^ith helpful tears these hard- 
ened eyelids fill 
Like two old gray-haired folks that love each 
other. 

When down the western slope we go — my 
chum and I, together; 
When she a crown of silvery white is wear- 
ing, 
May she, close-clinging to my hand, ne'er stop 
to wonder whether 
The old-time love for her I still am bearing. 
God grant — He's granted lots of things that 
gladdened her and me — 
My faded lips w^ith kisses she may smother; 
That w^hen w^e've lost the fire of youth w^e twain 
may come to be 
Two gentle, gray-haired folks that love each 
other. 



— 39 — 



TODAY 

Sure this world is full of trouble, 

I ain't said it ain*t. 
Lord! Tve had enough, and double 

Reason for complaint. 
Rain and storm have come to fret me, 

Skies were often gray; 
Thorns and brambles have beset me 

On the road — but say. 

Ain't it fine today? 

What's the use of always weep in', 

Makin' trouble last? 
What's the use of always keepin' 

Thinkin' of the past? 
Each must have his tribulation. 

Water with his wine; 
Life, it ain't no celebration; 

Trouble? I've had mine — 

But today is fine. 

It's today that I am livin'. 

Not a month ago, 
Havin', losin', takin', givin'. 

As time wills it so. 

— 40 — 



^oday —Continued 



Yesterday a cloud of sorrow 
Fell across the way; 

It may rain again tomorrow. 
It may rain — but say, 
Ain't it fine today? 



Douglas Malloch, 
jimerican Lumberman Poet 



FRIENDSHIP 

It is my joy in life to find 

At every turning of the road, 
The strong arms of a comrade kind. 

To help me onward with my load; 
And since I have no gold to give. 

And love alone must make amends, 
My only prayer is while I live, — 

**God make me worthy of my friends." 



— 41 — 



FINEST OF ALL 

God made the streams that gurgle down the 

purple mountain-side; 
He made the gorgeous coloring with which the 

sunset's dyed; 
He made the hills and covered them with 

glory; and He made 
The sparkle on the dew-drop and the shifting 

shine and shade. 
Then, seeing that He needed but a crown for 

all earth's charms, 
He made a little woman with a baby in her 

arms. 
He made the arching rainbow that is hurled 

across the sky; 
He made the blessed flowers that nod and 

smile as we go by; 
He made the ball-room beauty as she sways 

with queenly grace, 
But sweetest of them all He made the lovelight 

in the face 
That bends above a baby warding off all earth's 

alarms — 
God bless the little woman with a baby in her 

arms. Strickland JV. Qillilan, 



1 



In this poem notice how, in every single line, Mr. Gillilan 
suggests a beautiful picture. In any audience where the 
speaker would have to ask a mother to take the baby out, 
&OW cheerfully she would do so after hearing this little 
poem. 

— 42 — 



THE COAT OF LIFE 

From out the tangled threads of love and hate, 

The gold of laughter and the grey of tears, 
Fate weaves the cloth from which we all must 
cut 

The coat of life to wear in later years. 
Ours not to choose the color of the w^oof ; 

Ours not to grumble or to lightly praise; 
Ours but to sew the cloth in proper shape, 

To use time's needle and the thread of days. 
We may embroider it with wondrous dreams, 

Or stitch it with ambition's silvery skein; 
Or w^e may dye it with our bitter tears. 

Or make it loose to cover faults or pain. 
But every day we must put in a stitch, 

A goodly action or, perchance, a sin ; 
And neither tears nor prayers nor any shears 
can rip 

Those daily stitches that we have put in. 
And we must wear through all the years to 
come 

The cloak we fashion from this cloth of fate; 
So let us stitch it strong with faith and love 

And goodly deeds before it is too late. 

Betsy Trotwood, 



— 43 



DADDY 

My friend, Roland A. Nichols, -wrote this. Hear him in one of 
his charming lectures if granted the opportunity. 

Jest the best thing, Daddy is. 
When he ain't got rheumatiz. 
Gives me pennies and good advice 
*Bout keepin* clean and bein' nice. 
And sayin* please, and don't deceive. 
Handkerchief instead of sleeve, 
Seems jest like 'at Daddy knew 
He was once a small boy, too, 
Second table for him, I 'speck 
When he only got the neck. 
Anyhow he always says, 
**Give the Kid the best there is." 
An' when Ma sends me off to bed. 
Daddy takes the light ahead 
An' holds my hand, an' talks maybe 
'Bout the things 'at used to be 
When he an' Unky was little boys, 
An' all about their games an' toys. 
What am I goin' to be? Gee whiz, 
Goin' to be like Daddy is; 
Druther be like him, I jing 
'An president, or anything. 
He's like Ma says angels is 
When he ain't got the rheumatiz. 

Roland A. Nichols, 
— 44 — 



THAT LITTLE CHAP O' MINE 

To feel his little hand in mine, so clinging and 

so warm. 
To know he thinks me strong enough to keep 

him safe from harm; 
To see his simple faith in all that I can say or 

do. 
It sort o* shames a fellow, but it makes him bet- 
ter, too; 
And I am trying hard to be the man he fancies 

me to be, 
Because I have this chap at home who thinks 

the world o' me. 
I would not disappoint his trust for anything 

on earth. 
Nor let him know how^ little I just naturally am 

worth. 
But after all, its easier, that brighter road to 

climb. 
With the little hands behind me to push me all 

the time. 
And I reckon I'm a better man than what I used 

to be 
Because I have this chap at home who thinks 

the world o' me. 

of (Do not know who wrote this, but it has helped so many 
M folks I like to pass it on. If you know who wrote it, tell me, 
I, so I can give proper credit. Men have told me they have been 
saved through this poem.) 

— 45 — 



THE WASHERWOMAN'S SONG 

In a very humble cot, 
In a rather quiet spot, 
In the suds and in the soap. 
Worked a woman full of hope; 
Working, singing, all alone, 
In a sort of undertone: 
**With the Savior for a friend. 
He will keep me to the end." 

Sometimes happening along, 
I had heard the semi-song. 
And I often used to smile. 
More in sympathy than guile; 
But I never said a word 
In regard to what I heard. 
As she sang about her Friend 
Who would keep her to the endo 
:^ ^ « 

It's a song I do not sing. 
For I scarce believe a thing 
Of the stories that are told 
Of the miracles of old; 
But I know that her belief 
Is the anodyne of grief. 
And will always be a friend 
That will keep her to the end. 

— 46 — 



^he Washerwoman's Song— Continued 

Just a trifle lonesome she, 
Just as poor as poor could be; 
But her spirits always rose, 
Like the bubbles in the clothes. 
And, tho' widowed, and alone, 
Cheered her with the monotone 
Of a Savior and a Friend 
Who would keep her to the end. 

I have seen her rub and scrub. 
On the washboard in the tub. 
While the baby, sopped in suds. 
Rolled and tumbled in the duds. 
Or was paddling in the pools. 
With old scissors stuck in spools; 
She still humming of her Friend 
Who would keep her to the end. 

Human hopes and human creeds 
Have their root in human needs; 
And I should not wish to strip 
From that washerwoman's lip 
Any song that she can sing. 
Any hope that songs can bring. 
For the woman has a Friend 
Who will keep her to the end. 

Eugene F. Ware, 

— 47 — 



BLEMISHES 

I saw her in the cloistered dimness where 
We stranger twain a moment bowed in prayer. 
Upon her cheek a glossy-blemished place 
Made hideous an elsewise lovely face. 
I pitied her, deep in my inmost soul, 
That Fate on her had levied such a toll. 
Then in new radiance the lights upsprang 
And with relief my spirit leaped and sang. 
The scar that lashed my sympathy like whips 
A red rose was, its stem between her lips! 

Oft in the darkness of our clouded ken 
We note shortcomings in our fellowmen: 
Soul-blemishes and mind-disfigurements, 
Faults past denial, traits that give offense. 
We pity or we blame, inquirying: **Why 
Must others so less perfect be than IV 
Then comes the clearer light of graver years — 
Virtues enlarged, sins shrunken, through our 

tears — 
Till that which seemed a fault in blinder days 
Shines out a glory and compels our praise! 

Strickland W, Gillilan. 



— 48 — 



THE ANVIL OF GOD'S WORD 

I stood one day beside a blacksmith's door, 
And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime; 

Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor, 

Old hammers, worn with beating years of 
time. 

**How^ many anvils have you had?" said I, 

**To wear and batter all these hammers so?" 
**Just one," he said, then said with twinkling 
eye, 
**The anvil wears the hammers out, you 
know." 

And so methought the anvil of God's word. 
For ages skeptics' blows have beat upon, 

And though the noise of falling blow was 
heard. 
The anvil is unharmed, the hammers gone. 



i^sgf 



When all the world is out of plumb 
And business is on the bum, 
A two-cent grin and a lifted chin 
Helps some, my boy, helps some. 

— 49 — 



BLEMISHES 

I saw her in the cloistered dimness where 
We stranger twain a moment bowed in prayer. 
Upon her cheek a glossy-blemished place 
Made hideous an elsewise lovely face. 
I pitied her, deep in my inmost soul, 
That Fate on her had levied such a toll. 
Then in new radiance the lights upsprang 
And with relief my spirit leaped and sang. 
The scar that lashed my sympathy like whips 
A red rose was, its stem between her lips! 

Oft in the darkness of our clouded ken 
We note shortcomings in our fellowmen: 
Soul-blemishes and mind-disfigurements. 
Faults past denial, traits that give offense. 
We pity or we blame, inquirying: **Why 
Must others so less perfect be than I?" 
Then comes the clearer light of graver years — 
Virtues enlarged, sins shrunken, through our 

tears — 
Till that which seemed a fault in blinder days 
Shines out a glory and compels our praise! 

Strickland W. Gillilan, 



— 48 



THE ANVIL OF GOD'S WORD 

I stood one day beside a blacksmith's door, 
And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime; 

Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor. 

Old hammers, worn with beating years of 
time. 

**How many anvils have you had?" said I, 

**To wear and batter all these hammers so?" 
"Just one," he said, then said with twinkling 
eye, 
"The anvil wears the hammers out, you 
know." 

And so methought the anvil of God's word. 
For ages skeptics' blows have beat upon, 

And though the noise of falling blow was 
heard. 
The anvil is unharmed, the hammers gone. 



S2^ 



When all the world is out of plumb 
And business is on the bum, 
A two-cent grin and a lifted chin 
Helps some, my boy, helps some. 

— 49 — 



KEEP A-GOIN' 

If you strike a thorn or a rose. 

Keep a-goin' ! 
If it hails or if it snows, 

Keep a-goin' ! 
'Taint no use to sit and "whine 
When the fish ain't on your line; 
Bait your hook and keep on tryin' 

Keep a-goin'! 

When the weather kills your crop. 

Keep a-goin' ! 
When you tumble from the top, 

Keep a-goin' ! 
S'pose you are out of every dime, 
Gettin' broke ain't any crime; 
Tell the T/orld you're feelin' prime — 

Keep a-goin'! 

When it looks like all is up, 

Keep a-goin'! 
Drain the sweetness from the cup. 

Keep a-goin'! 
See the wild birds on the wing! 
Hear the bells that sweetly ring! 
When you feel like sighin' — sing! 

Keep a-goin'! 

Frank L. Stanton. 
— 50 — 



J 



IF WE KNEW 

Could we but draw back the curtains 
That surround each other's Hves, 
See the naked heart and spirit, 
Know^ w^hat spur the action gives, 
Often we would find it better, 
Purer than we judge we should; 
We should love each other better 
If we only understood. 

Could we judge all deeds by motives. 
See the good and bad within. 
Often w^e should love the sinner. 
All the while we loathe the sin. 
Could we know the powers working 
To o'erthrow integrity. 
We should judge each other's errors 
With more patient charity. 

Ah! We judge each other harshly, 
Knowing not life's hidden force; 
Knowing not the fount of action 
Is less turbid at its source. 
Seeing not amid the evil 
All the golden grains of good; 
Oh, we'd love each other better 
If we only understood. 

— 51 — 



BEING A MAN 

Whilst walking down a crowded 

City street the other day, 
I heard a little urchin 

To a comrade turn and say, 
**Say, Chimmey, lemme tell youse, 

rd be happy as a clam 
If I only w^as de feller dat 

Me mudder t'inks I am. 

She t'inks I am a wonder, 

An' she knows her little lad 
Could never mix wit' nuttin' 

Dat was ugly, mean or bad. 
Oh, lot o' times I sit and t'ink 

How nice, 'twould be, gee w^hiz! 
If a feller wus de feller 

Dat his mudder t'inks he is." 

My friend, be yours a life of toil 

Or undiluted joy. 
You still can learn a lesson 

From this small, unlettered boy. 
Don't aim to be an earthly saint 

With eyes fixed on a star. 
Just try to be the fellow that 

Your mother thinks you are. 



52 



DO SOMETHING 

Are you almost disgusted 

With life, little man? 
I will tell you a wonderful trick 

That will bring you contentment 
If anything can, — 

Do something for somebody, quick. 

Are you aw^fully tired 

With play, little girl, 
Weary, discouraged, and sick? 

ril tell you the loveliest game in the 
world, — 
Do something for somebody, quick. 

Though it rains like the rain 

Of the flood, little man, 
And the clouds are forbidding and thick. 

You can make the sun shine in your soul, 
little man — 
Do something for somebody, quick. 

Though the skies are like brass 

Overhead, little girl. 
And the w^alks like a well-heated brick, 

And your earthly affairs in a terrible 
whirl — 
Do something for somebody, quick. 

— 53 — 



SMILE 

Like bread without the spreadin'. 

Like a puddin' without sauce, 
Like a mattress without beddin', 

Like a cart without a hoss, 
Like a door without a latchstring, 

Like a fence without a stile, 
Like a dry an* barren creek bed, 

Is a face without a smile! 

Like a house without a dooryard, 

Like a yard w^ithout a flower, 
Like a clock w^ithout a mainspring, 

That will never tell the hour; 
A thing that sort o' makes yo' feel 

A hunger all the while — 
Oh, the saddest sight that ever w^as 

Is a face without a smile! 

The face of man was built fer smiles, 

An' thereby he is blest 
Above the critters of the field, 

The birds an' all the rest; 
He's just a little lower 

Than the angels in the skies. 
An' the reason is that he can smile; 

Therein his glory lies! 

— 54 — 



Smile-^Continued 

So smile an' don't fergit to smile, 

An' smile, an' smile ag'in; 
'Twill help loosen up the cords o' care 

An' ease the weight o' sin ; 
'Twill help yo' on the longest road, 

An' cheer yo' mile by mile; 
An' so, whatever is your lot, 

Jes' smile, an' smile, an' smile! 

tNiational Magazine, 



THE CONTAGIOUS SMILE 

Smile a smile! 

While you smile, 

Another smiles; 

And soon there are miles 

And miles of smiles 

And life's worth while — 

If you but smile. 



— 55 — 



IT CAN BE DONE 

Somebody said that it couldn't be done. 

But he, with a chuckle, replied. 
That **Maybe it couldn't'* but he would be one 

Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. 
So he buckled right in, with a trace of a grin 

On his face. If he worried, he hid it. 
He started to sing as he tackled the thing. 

That couldn't be done, and he did it. 

Somebody scoffed: **0h, you'll never do 
that — 

At least no one ever has done it." 
But he took oflF his coat, and he took off his hat, 

And the first thing we knew he'd begun it. 
With the lift of his chin, and a bit of a grin. 

Without any doubting or quiddit. 
He started to sing as he tackled the thing 

That couldn't be done, and he did it. 

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be 

done. 
There are thousands that prophesy failure, 
There are thousands to point out to you, one by 

one, 
The dangers that wait to assail you; 

But just buckle in, with a bit of a grin. 
Then take off your coat and go to it; 

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing. 
That ''cannot be done," and you'll do it. 

— 56 — 



SAWDUST FROM THE TRAIL 

When you see a fellow coining 

And he's got a level head; 
And the package he is carrying 

Contains a loaf of bread; 
And the bucket he is toting. 

Filled with milk instead of booze, 
If you look a little closer, 

You'll see sawdust on his shoes. 

If you hear a fellow whistle, 

And the tune is light and gay; 
As he hands his wife the billet, 

That contains his weekly pay 
With not a penny missing. 

Gone to square a score for booze. 
You can bet your bottom dollar 

He has sawdust on his shoes. 

If you see a merry urchin 

Playing marbles on the street, 
And his little knickerbockers 

Have no patches on the seat; 
If his shooter-bag is bursting 

With new alleys, reds and blues. 
You can gamble that his daddy 

Has had sawdust on his shoes. 

— 57 — 



THE MOTHER'S LOVE 

Over the forest and treeless plains 

And over the heights above, 
'Tis ever the same, the heart of the home 

Is the throb of the mother's love. 
It kneels by the bed of the drowsy head 

And whispers a lullaby 
That softly streams through the baby's dreams, 

**Fear not, for Mother's nigh"; 

It flows from her lips to her finger tips, 

Caressing the baby's curls; 
It shines in her eyes that sympathize 

With the tears of her little girls ; 
The sorrows and joys of her little boys. 

It only can understand. 
And it hallows the touch we love so much, — 

The pressure of mother's hand. 

It mends the ball and the broken doll ; 

It finds the missing knife. 
And all day long it weaves a song 

'Round the wearisome tasks of life. 
When the tear drops start and she lays her 
heart 

On the breast of the pulseless one, 

— 58 — 



^he Mother's Love—Continued 

It looks above to the God of Love 

And sighs, **Thy will be done.'* 
On every sea and on every land 

Beneath the sky's blue dome, 
The mother's love is the life and the light 

And the throbbing heart of the home. 

OLD MOTHERS 

I love old mothers — mothers with white hair 
And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet 
With murmured blessings over sleeping babes. 
There is a something in their quiet grace 
That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons; 
A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes 
That far outreaches all philosophy. 
Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves 
The silver-threaded fairy shawl of age, 
While all the echoes of forgotten songs 
Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech. 
Old mothers! As they pass with slow-timed 

Strength. 
Sweet mothers! As they pass, one sees again 
Old garden walks, old roses and old loves. 

Charles S. T^oss. 



59 



WHERE THE LORD IS 

The Parish Priest of austerity. 

Climbed in a high church steeple 
To be nearer God, — 

So that he might send His word down on the 
people. 

In sermon script he daily wrote 

What he thought was sent from Heaven; 

And passed it down on the people's heads 
Two times, one day in seven. 

In his old age, God said, **Come down and 
die," 

And he cried from out the steeple, 
** Where art Thou, Lord?" and the Lord replied 

"Down here among the people." 

TO MY MOTHER 

Most of all the other beautiful things in life 
come by twos and threes, by dozens and hun- 
dreds; plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, 
brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins, but only 
one mother in all the w^ide w^orld. 

Kate Douglas Wiggin 
— 60 — 



HOMELY RHYMES 

If you've ever been heartsick and weary, 

Half ready to give up the fight; 
If you ever have thought of the lov*d ones 

You've banished long years from your sight. 
If you ever have crept to your cabin, 

Half hid from the world, so it seems. 
And sit there alone in the darkness 

Then you know what the word **mother" 
means. 
For a boy's best friend is his mother — 

And you're always a boy in her sight — 
Don't forget all the good that she taught you — 

Better meet her in prayer-land tonight. 

^oh Owens 



I jest heard that Elder Gray 
Give his money all away; 
Been a miser, clost and hard 
Sence the big tree in our yard 
Wuz a saplin' ; — never went 
Nigh a soul ner give a cent. 
Heer'd last night he'd give his wife 
All he'd saved up all his life. 
Sounds onreal, — but 'taint no lie — 
I jest seen the hearse go by. 

— 61 — 



IN CONCLUDING— 

I am thankful, truly thankful 

For kind and loving friends, 
Who wait with willing heart and handj 

To help me gain my ends. 
The faith which they repose in me 

Is strength, through thick and thin; 
I must not disappoint them. 

So I feel I'm bound to win. 

But then I must be truthful, 

So I frankly here confess, — 
There is another, stronger force. 

Impels me toward success. 
A doubting few have said Td fail, 

And so I feel I must, — 
To make them sw^allow their remarks. 

Confound 'em, — ^win or bust. 



iS^ 



The world can't see your dreams, pard. 

Can't see them soar and mount; 

They're big things to you, and it may seem 

hard. 
But just what you do will count. 

— 64 — 



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